


Caging a Wolf With His Bard

by The Space Bard (GraceJordan)



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Frustrated Geralt, Locked In, M/M, Trapped
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:06:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23328223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GraceJordan/pseuds/The%20Space%20Bard
Summary: After a night of debauchery, Jaskier gets him and Geralt locked up in a cell. But things get tense quick
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 8
Kudos: 203





	Caging a Wolf With His Bard

“Just say it. Just bloody say it, Geralt, instead of brooding over there and refusing to look at me. You blame me for this, don’t you?”

Across the damp cell, with its unforgiving stench, Geralt leaned into the bars, his hands placed firmly on two parallel iron rods. If Jaskier didn’t know Geralt’s strength, from the rippling muscles and furrowed brow he would’ve guessed he was half-ready to bend them. 

However, he knew that Geralt’s inhuman strength wasn’t quite that great. Unfortunately, because now he was just trapped in here, being glared at from afar. 

Well, Jaskier assumed he was glaring. All he could see were the remnants of an angry eyebrow on Geralt’s left side. 

“If we’re stuck in here for a few hours, we should probably at least attempt talking this out like adults instead of pouting like children, correct?” When the silence pervaded, Jaskier was half ready to pull off his boot and toss it at the Witcher. But considering these were his favorite, best-polished leather, he decided against it. 

Fashion won over fiery rage. 

Flopping back down on the shitty cot bed of this small-town dungeon, Jaskier felt his spine crack in several places just from coming in contact. He groaned. “I get this is your style, stiff-faced and silent like a very angry, very cursed marionette of a person, but for the love of god say-”

“Fuck. Shut up, Jaskier.”

And with a glance back, the Bard finally saw those yellow eyes meet his. They were dilated, frustrated, but something in the way he clenched his fists wasn’t the kind of control Geralt had when he was holding in rage. It was something much more unstable. 

Raising an eyebrow, Jaskier felt his petulance deflate from his lungs, turning his huffy response into something much quieter. “Why are you afraid, Geralt?” Within seconds, Jaskier’s mind started to reel. They were just a half-assed cell in Posada, after a little too raunchy of a night. 

Well, raunchy may be an... inappropriate word, but the severity was still correct. “I’m sorry that I flirted with that man’s fiance, okay? I didn’t know. I was drunk after playing, like I often am, and she was beautiful, like women often are, and she made no indication when her hand was unbuttoning my pants that there was a jealous man on the other side of the bar.”

“No, you didn’t notice, did you.”

It should have been a question, but Geralt was just gritting his teeth, growling over there like a starved animal. 

Jaskier felt a tightness is his chest, something seizing his heart and squeezing it. He’d made Geralt angry before, he knew what angry looked like. This was something different, just as ferocious, he couldn’t identify it, and he didn’t know how to react to it. Every little fluttering laugh or hopeless joke in his body was being swallowed by the uncertainty. 

Standing up, Jaskier took a step towards Geralt. With his hands reaching towards the Witcher, he said, “I’m serious, Geralt. I’m sorry. We’ll be out by morning, though. And I’ll try to be more careful with my... escapades.”

“Yeah, you should be.”

“What does that mean?”

With a roll of his eyes, Geralt pushed off the bars and finally turned to him, shoulders straight, his body towering over his. Not in the literal sense, but those eyes looked down on him from above his flared nostrils and it just felt like the Witcher was up on some high horse while he was down on the ground, a lowly lech. 

No matter how right Geralt was, that he caused a bit too much trouble today, Jaskier did not appreciate being looked down on. He crossed his arms, waiting for whatever stupid thing the Witcher was about to say. 

Geralt finally said, “Maybe I’m tired of watching you... fraternize with a new person in every town we visit.” 

“Says the man with a kink for every court sorceress we meet.”

His eyes thinned, a horizon line centered by a corn husk moon. “I don’t do that anymore.”

Throwing up his hands, Jaskier was starting to topple off his own edge. This was what the man was mad about? What was next, him launching into a soliloquy about safe sex? “And why not? You were much less bristled porcupine. More like a well-fanged werewolf puppy who eats other werewolf puppies for coin.” Jaskier grimaced. “That analogy was dumb, it doesn’t go in the next song. But if I wanted to embarrass you for being a pompous ass, it would!”

Just then, Geralt grabbed his collar. But the second his fingers closed on the cloth, tight, he let go just as quickly. “Forget about it.”

“Hard to forget about whatever kind of teenage mood swings you’re on right now.”

“Jaskier, please.”

“You saying please? Now I know something’s truly up. You can talk to me, y’know? The male ego about emotions is overrated.”

Geralt shut his eyes, swallowed, looked like he was trying to pretend he was anywhere else. Jaskier stepped closer, but that only made Geralt back up into the bars. When his eyes flashed open, it wasn’t the fierce, soul-piercing gaze he was used to. He looked so soft; maybe even scared. “Don’t.”

“Tell me. I’d do anything for you.”

With a shuddering breath, Geralt, said, “I don’t want to see you with anyone anymore.”

“I- I didn’t realize my sexscapades bothered you so much. I’ll... I’ll be subtle.”

“No.” The Witcher’s eyes scanned his face, looked down to his hands, and to Jaskier’s confusion and surprise, took his own, large paw and brushed it lightly against the Bard’s cheek. “I don’t have the right, but I don’t want you with anyone.”

Furrowing his brow, Jaskier was confused. “Celibacy isn’t exactly my style. Or yours, Geralt. I don’t quite understand-”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Just shut up.” And before Jaskier could even attempt another word, Geralt’s hands cupped his face and pulled him into a kiss. 

Jaskier started it off stunned, immobilized. He never would have suspected the Witcher had any interest in him; not that he’d never shown interest in any men, but certainly not men like him. 

All these years, they had been friends, companions, business partners of sorts, but Geralt always acted like Jaskier was an annoying tick on a good day, a sucking leech on a bad one. He’d never thought Geralt wanted him to suck-

Just then, Geralt released him and stepped back and away, like even being close to Jaskier was a bad idea. “I’m an idiot.”

“Normally I’m the idiot, so this is a little refreshing.”

“Not funny.” 

Jaskier didn’t really know how to approach Geralt. All these years, he was up on some mountain, an eagle, a wolf, a wild untameable beast and Jaskier was his little bird, a pet he sometimes kept around for fun little larks. 

It wasn’t that the man wasn’t attractive; he’d known that from the second he met him, all those years ago in the tavern ten feet above them. But Jaskier always assumed that someone like Geralt would never be interested in a weak, funny little bird. 

Geralt growled, “Just say something and get this over with.”

But for once in his life, Jaskier had nothing to say. Instead, he grabbed Geralt’s hand and drew himself close. 

Those yellow eyes watched him with such mistrustful scrutiny; tracking every twitch, every touch, like at any moment Jaskier could bite him. 

To think, the White Wolf was scared of little old him. 

Helpless to his own smile, Jaskier placed his hand on Geralt’s chest. “I’ll stop if someone better takes their place.”

Before Geralt could feel insecurity, talk them in circles like the man he wasn’t, Jaskier grabbed hold of his hair and slightly tugged, pulling Geralt’s face to his. 

And he kissed him again. 

Maybe this night left alone in a cage wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen to a bird and a wolf.

**Author's Note:**

> Just fun fluff. May edit later for fleshing out, but otherwise just enjoy two boys, six feet apart in a cell, because they are DEFINITELY not gay. Definitely.


End file.
